


Echoes of You

by kradam_12321 (kay_elizabeth_roxx)



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Dream Sex, Ghosts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-10 12:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_elizabeth_roxx/pseuds/kradam_12321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Don't listen to them," she said, dismissively flipping a wrist. "They fancy every house in the county over fifteen years old 'haunted.'"<br/>"It's fine with me," Kris said, looking out over the lawn. "I don't really believe in ghosts, anyway."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Echoes of You

"Okay, Mr. Allen, you should be all set," Mary, his real estate agent, said, flashing that pearly, professionally whitened smile. "The paperwork's all wrapped up, and I've got the extra set of keys here."

"Thanks," Kris said, taking the keyring from the red-manicured fingers that had always sort of reminded him of talons.

"Congratulations, boy, you just bought yourself a haunted house," one of the movers said, shuffling up the porch steps and through the door with a toothpick in mouth and an endtable in hand, and Kris caught the   
eyeroll Mary let loose.

"Don't listen to them," she said, dismissively flipping a wrist. "They fancy every house in the county over fifteen years old 'haunted.'"

"It's fine with me," Kris replied, tapping his Converse against the concrete of the porch and looking out over the lawn. "I don't really believe in ghosts, anyway."

~

Kris slumped down onto the sofa in his new living room with a whoosh of breath, looking around at the cluttered boxes and furniture. Half of the things weren't even meant to be in this room, and Kris, with a   
sigh, resolved to put everything off until tomorrow, when his parents were there to help put furniture in order and whatnot.

Kris Allen wasn't really sure why he'd ended up deciding on becoming a first-time home buyer. He'd previously been a relatively happy renter, and the only reason he could come up with was privacy-- being   
able to play his music whenever and not having to worry about disturbing his elderly neighbors mid-afternoon nap or whatever.

And that's how he'd ended up in Mary's perky clutches, and, ultimately, in this big, old as dirt house.

It had been built in 1938, on the verge of WWII, by a relatively wealthy family. The space was totally unnecessary for one person, but as for price, it was, as Mary had put it, a "steal." It   
had that tired old beauty fixer-uppers retained, and Kris had found himself smitten with it on his first tour. And yeah, the floor creaked, and the wallpaper wasn't in the greatest of shape, and there was a good half-inch layer of dust over everything-- but it was a _pretty_ old creaky mess.

Kris managed to find a pair of sheets in the array of boxes littering his bedroom that night, and haphazardly made the bed, sinking into the mattress with a tired sigh.

And so the first night passed without incident.

~

The next day was no less exhausting-- Mama Allen, compensating for her sons complete lack of decorating skill, put Kris and his father to work hauling furniture here and there-- and by the end of the night, Kris was really beginning to wonder why the heck it mattered if the couch was _here_ by the stairs or _there_ under the window.

Kris made them dinner once the furniture was more or less situated, and by the time he saw them out the door that evening, he felt like sleeping sixteen hours straight might be completely awesome.

He remembered the dishes, though, and dutifully went to do them-- Mama Allen had taught him to never leave dishes undone. He padded across the wooden floor of the kitchen, and was just reaching for a washrag when he paused, hand hovering over it.

_Someone was watching._

That simple thought materialised in Kris' head and burrowed into his brain, making him freeze in his tracks. The prickle of eyes on him was strong, but it wasn't a malevolent gaze-- it seemed to simply be the   
stare of a curious bystander.

Kris glanced up and over the completely empty room, shaking his head at himself.

"These big houses make you jumpy, man," Kris said to no one in particular, dismissing the feeling as he grabbed the washrag.

~

Kris was busy unpacking boxes the next day when his phone rang in his pocket, the caller ID flashing 'Matt.'

"Hello?" Kris answered, flopping from his kneeling position onto the ground as Matt replied "Roof fall in on ya yet, big boy?"

"Oh shut _up_," Kris laughed, tracing a scratch on the floor as dusty light filtered through the windows onto him. "If you've called to either make fun of my house or brag about how great your new girlfriend is, go away."

"Neither!" Matt cheerily said. "Although she _is _great. Anyway. I thought I'd come over and watch the game. You _did _hook up the cable, right?"

"Yeah," Kris agreed. "Come over. But I'm not feeding you."

"Sure, man," Matt laughed, saying goodbye and hanging up the phone.

~

"Hey," Kris greeted, letting Matt in and shutting the door behind him.

"Wow, your mom works wonders," Matt said, looking around the room, and Kris laughed, pushing him towards the kitchen.

"You go get the beer and I'll set up the TV, dude."

Matt returned with two cans a few moments later, looking bemused.

"Why keep all your cabinets open, man?" Matt asked, and Kris raised his eyebrows, replying "Uh, what?"

Matt pointed to the kitchen door, and Kris walked in to find all of the cabinet doors swung wide, dusty light from the windows striping across them.

"...Well that's pretty frickin' weird," Kris said, trying to sound airy as he closed the doors, ignoring that ever-prodding feeling of observation.

~

That night Kris was roused from his sleep by the sound of scratching.

"Fuck, not mice, too," he mumbled, burying his face into the pillow-- but no, that wasn't right. It wasn't the short skitter of rodent travel, but instead a slow, deliberate scraping. A shiver traveled down Kris' spine-- raw, primal fear setting into his stomach as the darkness pressed in, suffocating.

_Scraaatch. Scraaatch.  
_  
His arm jerked over, hitting the button for his bedside table lamp-- and the noise stopped the moment the light flooded the empty room.

Kris was still for a long moment, before slowly standing from the bed, the hair raising on his arms as he padded across the floor.

He came to a large desk, one that had been here when he'd moved in-- but the formerly smooth maple surface was gouged now, thin, long scribbles scratched into the grain.

Kris' heart beat faster as he traced his fingers over them, making out letters. That looked like an A, and then to the right two l's, and an i--

Just that second, a black shadow flashed across Kris' peripheral vision, and he spun around just in time to see the heavy bedroom door slam with a resounding boom.

"Jesus _Christ_," Kris groaned in disbelief, heart leaping like a bunny as he stumbled over and face-planted onto his bed, adrenaline seeping from his body and leaving him exhausted.

He slept on the couch the rest of that night.

~

"You're house is _what_?" Katy said, voice disbelieving.

"Haunted, Katy, haunted," Kris said into the phone, turning his car into the parking lot by the little club he worked at in Little Rock.

Katy and him may have decided to break up-- mainly because of Kris' realization that he preferred men-- but they still talked nearly every week. And yeah, he kind of really needed someone to talk to, after last nights' horror show.

"Explain, please," Katy demanded, and Kris sighed, talking fast as he trotted into the club, throwing a wave to Cass, behind the bar. "Well everyone I talked to said it was haunted except my realtor, and I didn't really believe them because yeah, but now all these weird things have been happening, and... I'm kind of freaking out."

"...Want me to come sleep on your couch?" Katy sighed, and Kris couldn't even bring himself to feel pathetic for accepting immediately.

~

"Thanks for doing this, Katy," Kris said, hugging her as she got situated on the couch.

"No problem, wimp," Katy teased, smiling, and Kris laughed and went off to his bedroom. He'd moved the defiled maple desk into the other bedroom, and without it looming there as a reminder, he could almost   
pass off the previous night as him being paranoid. Almost.

Kris changed into his pj bottoms and brushed his teeth, sliding in under the blankets. He hesitated a moment before flicking off the lights, and soon he was falling into a restless slumber.

Colors swirled and materialized beneath his eyelids-- and then he was walking along the main upstairs hallway, time thick and heavy, flowing along like honey. He turned his eyes up to see a wispy black shadow, framed by the dark window behind it, hovering motionless at the end of the hallway. Watching.

Then, suddenly, the scene changed, sharpening to the clarity of dreams that might as well be waking events. He was sitting on his unmade bed in his pj's, and he had a short moment of thinking '_someone's coming' _before the oak door swung wide.

And in entered no gruesome specter, no formless imprint of a soul-- instead, it was perhaps the most   
beautiful man Kris had ever laid eyes on.

He was tall and broad across the shoulders, his hair an inky black and his eyes a bright blue beneath smoky lashes. The only things to set him apart as odd were his clothes-- a tan riding jacket and trousers   
that were in the style of the 1930's and 40's-- and the fact that his footsteps made no noise upon the worn wooden floors.

The man smiled, soft and distant, and, suddenly, all traces of fear were wiped from Kris' mind.

"...I'm sorry I frightened you the other night," the man said, voice a sweet echo that sounded to Kris as if it came from a great distance, an imprint of a time long passed. "I... I don't want you to be frightened and leave. It's been empty for... such a long time. And you, you remind me of..."

The man stopped, pain and sorrow twisting his gorgeous features, and Kris only found his voice as the scene began to fade, colors and shapes meshing and blurring.

"Wait, who...?" Kris tried to ask, but then the man was gone, and all was black.

His eyes startled open a moment later, and he sat up stock-straight in bed, flicking the bedside lamp on.

The shower of light revealed naught but an empty room and a closed door. He flopped back onto the bed, mind reeling with what he'd just seen-- but he sat back up as something on the bedside table caught his   
attention.

Scrawled into the dust at the base of the lamp was the name "Adam."

~

That morning, Kris came downstairs at the scent of pancakes to find Katy at the stove.

"You're an angel," Kris smiled, and Katy laughed, flipping the pancake as Kris sat down at the table. She raised her eyebrows over at him when he immediately began staring off into space, finger tracing over the table.

"Anything happen last night?" Katy casually asked, stacking pancakes onto his plate. Kris could tell she saw easily through his thin facade of casual calm, but he shook his head anyway. 

"Nope, everything's fine."

~

That afternoon, after his shift at the club, he headed home, dialing his cell.

A cheery voice answered after three rings, and Kris greeted "Hey, Mary. I have a question."

"Oh, hello, Kris! Everything all right in the house?"

"Oh, yeah," Kris replied, pulling into his driveway. "I was just wondering... Do you by any chance know the name of the family who built the house?"

"Lambert, I believe," Mary replied, and Kris' mind returned to the gorgeous face that had been hovering in his head all day. _Adam Lambert. _

"I did some background research on the house a while ago, since it's quite unique for the area. I have a file around here somewhere."

"Hey, would it be to much trouble to ask if I could borrow it?" Kris asked, looking up at the big dark windows of the house, and Mary replied "Oh, sure," her tone suggesting she was about to inquire why he was suddenly so interested.

"Thank you," Kris said, cutting off any question. "Would it be okay to come get it now?"

"Yes, that's fine," Mary agreed, sounding a little bemused, and Kris backed back out of the driveway.

~

Kris plopped down onto his couch with a thin folder in hand, acutely aware of something hovering in the room, curiously looking on.

The first page was just general information on the house itself, and Kris quickly skipped past it. Next he came upon a photocopy of a page of Little Rock's newspaper, the date at the top placing the issue released near the end of WWII.

Kris looked closer, and yes, the name Adam Lambert was enclosed in the newsprint.

Kris read the article, the _obituary_, an ache in his chest as he read the words _passed away yesterday _and _pneumonia. _The beautiful man that had appeared in his dreams had died at age 27.

~

That night he dreamed again.

This time there was no element of fear-- Adam was no malevolent spirit with a vendetta against the living, not one of the gruesome spirits that were the stuff of horror movies. That, at least, Kris was sure of.  
   
This time he found himself, with the same crystal clarity, sitting next to the same dark-haired figure as before on his bed.

"...You've been researching me," Adam quietly stated, and Kris thought back to the decades-old obituary, thinking _this is so fucking surreal.  
_  
"...Yeah," Kris confirmed, studying Adam's profile. "You... you died from pneumonia. A long time ago."

Adam sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "I know I died. I do. But I can't... leave. I can't. I never, I didn't..." Adam dropped his head into his hands, then, voice choked off. "A-Allison."

And that name reminded Kris of something, but he couldn't-- and then it hit him, the memory of scratches down a desk, slow pained raking in the night. _Alli_.

"My baby sister," Adam said, before Kris could ask. "You... anybody else would have left this house. You, you're so different... you aren't afraid. But, you can't... It's too late for me to, to make it up to her. I could never. It was m-my fault. I can't do anything!"

The pain laced through Adam's desperate words was vulnerable, laid bare-- and Kris simply had to touch him, had to take that beautiful, suffering restless soul into his arms.

Dreams were supposed to be devoid of any real physical imprint-- and yet Adam was certainly solid against him, yet somehow fragile, eyes wide and vulnerable with surprise as Kris' arms wrapped around him. His body was awkward against Kris', as if it had forgotten what it was to be held.

Kris didn't know what to call this feeling, aching sweetly in his chest.

"...What happened to you?" Kris slowly asked, and Adam immediately tensed in his arms, the dream beginning to blur and fade.

"No, Adam, don't leave," Kris pleaded, stroking his back. "I want to help. I want to hear."

Adam squeezed his eyes shut as the things around him solidified again, decades upon decades of guilt and remembrance and pain written across his face. "Kris. I don't know if I, if I can."

Kris just rocked him, trying to be some comfort-- and, eventually, Adam took a shuddering inhale and began his recounting, memories from those days long ago weaving themselves through Kris' head.

~

_A tall, blonde-haired man-- Adam and Allison's father-- burst in through the front door, his face shocked, grave._

"What is it, daddy?" Allison asked, eyebrows knitting together in concern as she smoothed her hands over her pregnant belly.

"I've just heard. The... the Japanese. They've bombed Pearl Harbor."

"No... Father," Adam gasped, jumping to his feet, and another young man, no older than twenty one, approached, wrapping a protective arm around Allison.

"The draft is beginning soon, son,"  their father said, and Adam's eyes hardened resolutely. "I will go."

The other young man nodded in agreement, and Allison looked horrified, clutching at his arm. "But darling... the baby..."

"I need to do this, Allison," the young man said, stroking her hair as she buried her face into his neck, clutching behind her back to grab Adam's hand.

"We'll be fine, Alli," Adam assured her, and her misty eyes dared to believe him.  
  
~

"So Sam and I enlisted," Adam said, quietly, slowly winding an arm around Kris' waist. "We were both part of the 29th infantry division. We were shipped off to England to be trained... and we were the first wave of troops onto Omaha Beach at the Normandy landing. On D-day. I... needed to keep Sam safe. Sam and Allison were newly married, and Allison had just found out she was with a child. Sam... he was a good man. He... he reminds me of you, in a way. He... was only twenty years old! I promised..." Adam said, body shuddering in the beginnings of dry sobs, his eyes squeezed shut.

"I told Allison I would k-keep him safe. But I... I didn't, I couldn't do it... and it was m-my fault. I could have   
saved him. It was my fault my baby sister's husband died."

~

_Panic set in the moment Adam hit the cold salt water, thrashing towards the beach as he tried to keep his rifle dry over his head, his pack like a weight upon his back, trying to drag him down. People were going under the relentless waves all around him, and some didn't come back up._

What seemed to be an eternity later, Adam stumbled out onto the wet sand, gasping, bodies charging forward and falling on all sides, the bang of German guns from their position on the bluff deafening.

Adam ran across the expanse of sand, seeking shelter, and suddenly Sam was there, running next to him, gasping in breaths.

Then, several things happened at once.

Adam glanced over to see two German soldiers, sheltered by the bluff, take aim in their direction-- and Adam had a split second to speed up, dodging and leaving Sam exposed. Bullets met their mark, and an   
explosion of sharp agony erupted from Adam's knee in a fine spray of blood at the same moment Sam collapsed beside him.

Adam stumbled on his bleeding leg, sharp pain pulsing through his body as he sprawled next to Sam.

"...Sam, Samuel," Adam panted, grabbing at the other mans uniform front, scarlet blooming sickeningly across it as Sam's breaths sawed in and out of his chest.

Adam staggered upright, thinking get him to cover, got to stop the bleeding,_ but his leg protested with an explosion of pain, sending him back to the ground with a strangled cry._

He struggled with Sam's shirt, trying to staunch the wound, but blackness blurred the edges of his vision and pulled him under.

~

"They found me later," Adam choked out to a horrified Kris, his entire body shaking and tensing spasmodically.

"Sam was already gone. And I was sent back home... my leg was too messed up to continue. And Allison, when she f-found out about S-Sam," Adam said, voice tortured as he relived the past again, fingers clutching at the back of Kris' shirt.

~

_Adam limped through the front door of his family home, dull eyes, eyes that had seen the destruction of thousands, taking in the distantly familiar house, his leg in a brace and his cane in hand._

"Adam!" someone sobbed, and then his mother and Allison were embracing him. Tears streaked Adam's face when, a moment later, Allison beamed joyously up at him, baby in her arms, and asked where Sam was.

"Allison, baby doll," Adam said, feeling like some heavenly hand had ripped out his innards as the dark truth slipped from his lips. "H-he was shot down in Normandy. I...  I tried. It was my fault...!"

"...What?" Allison asked, doe eyes wide and disbelieving. "No. Sam. He's not, he can't be.... Oh my god," she said, their mother enveloping her into her arms as she broke down into shuddering sobs of   
grief.

Adam hiccuped out a sob as his body shuddered, tears falling from broken blue eyes onto the floor.  
  
~

"She left the next day, before any of us were awake," Adam said, face contorted against Kris' neck. "She was devastated. She must have h-hated me! I let him die, I did!" Adam said, voice raising, scrabbling   
at the bed like he was trying to escape from his memories, nearly animalistic wails of grief ripping from his lips.

"Sshh, Adam, darling," Kris said, pulling him closer and locking him into his arms, rocking him and stroking his hair as his wails gradually quieted to whimpers, body shaking in Kris' arms.

"I... wrote her a letter, saying what I needed to, and hid it in my desk," Adam said, "But I got s-sick and never... got it to her. I should have died on that battlefield, Kris, it should have been me!"

"Sssh," Kris comforted, pressing his tear-stained cheek against Adam's dark hair. "It wasn't your fault, Adam. There was nothing you could do."

"I could have saved him," Adam murmured. "I can't stand remembering..."

Adam looked up at him him then, pained, beautiful blue eyes searching his face. "But you... You being here, you make it... bearable. You make it better. Please don't leave," Adam pleaded, tightening his hold on Kris' waist.

Kris was overwhelmed with the extent of his feelings looking down at the other man, and he framed Adam's face in his hands, assuring him "I won't, Adam," before leaning down.

He hesitated for one short second above him, before slowly pressing his mouth against Adam's sweet bow lips.

Kris belatedly realized he didn't even know if Adam was-- had been-- gay, but he figured he had his answer as Adam slowly, hesitantly wrapped his arms around Kris' waist, lips soft and pliant underneath his.

Kris' hands twined into his dark hair, and Adam's lips sweetly, hungrily clung to the soft curve of his upper lip in response, hands knotting into the fabric of his shirt.

Kris, a long moment later, felt himself slowly being pulled back into consciousness, and he caressed his lips across Adam's cheekbone, pulling back to look into gorgeous big blue eyes.

"Thank you," Adam murmured, laying a palm along Kris' jaw and pressing a lingering kiss to his lips, the warmth of him in Kris' arms fading away.

A moment later, Kris' eyes abruptly startled open, and he found himself sprawled across his bed and very much alone, his body still tingling with Adam's touches, his mind reeling with all he had heard.

~

The next day at work, Kris was asked at least a half dozen times-- by regulars, waitresses-- why he was so spaced out. Thinking about telling them the real reason kind of made him want to laugh hysterically-- yes, he was just pondering the things a ghost had told him in his sleep. Completely normal.

And... okay, he couldn't even pretend that that was the only thing he was thinking of. Every minute or so, his mind would wander back to the soft caresses of Adam's lips, puffs of air against his mouth, large hands kneading and stroking at his back--

"Kris? Your shift is up," Cass said from behind the bar, looking perplexedly over at him.

"Oh. Thanks, man, see you," Kris replied, mind snapping away from the memory of Adam's sweet mouth-- and back to something in Adam's explanation that had burrowed insistently into his brain, refusing to let go.

_"I wrote her a letter and... hid it in my desk."_

~

Kris opened the door to the spare bedroom and walked in, approaching the large maple desk. The thin marks on the surface were overlaid with a thin layer of dust now, and Kris opened the three drawers one-by-one, finding them all empty.

He studied the front of the desk, taking in the notches and lines of the wood-- and, on a hunch, reached for the thin panel, next to the drawers, that came down from the flat top surface, empty space for a chair beneath. And yes-- a clever drawer clicked open, and Kris was aware of a spectator in the room as he reached in and pulled out an aged, yellowed envelope.

The front had no address, but, instead, the name "Allison Iraheta" was written across it in a messy scrawl.

"Iraheta... Sam's last name..?" Kris said to himself, reaching for the sealed flap.

His fingers faltered and stopped, however, as he thought back to Adam in his arms, grief for Sam, and for his sister, seeming to be a physical pain tormenting him.

Kris turned the letter over in his hands, unopened. These words were not meant for him.

He was suddenly hyper-aware of the eyes on him-- and he couldn't sense if they were displeased with his boldness.

"I'm sorry, Adam," Kris said, kneeling on the floor with the envelope in hand, looking around the empty room and feeling only slightly silly. "For poking around. Don't be angry. I just--"

Kris jumped in surprise as he felt the touch of what seemed to be fingers trail down the back of his neck as a breath, kiss, and wordless murmur crossed his ear.

He was almost positive he heard Adam's laugh as he staggered to his feet, his knees sore with the force of his startled jumping.

~

  
Kris sat at his kitchen table, absentmindedly turning the envelope around in his fingers as he looked thoughtfully out the window.

The previous night-- as soon as he closed his eyes, it seemed-- he found himself again with Adam, in his arms. "Never be angry with you," Adam had simply said, his full, slick lips sliding over Kris'.

"I just...even if she hated me...I just needed to tell how sorry I was. That was all," Adam had murmured some amount of time later, face nuzzled into Kris' neck, and that's the moment a seed of a plan stuck in Kris' brain.

Now, Kris reached for his laptop on the table, clicking the internet icon. He pulled up Google, fingers tapping out a name as he began his search.

~

Some time later, Kris stared triumphantly at the computer screen, reading the names written across the family tree he had found on a family history site.

_  
                                                                    Leila Gilmore - Eber Lambert  
                                                                                     ^  
_

  


_                                                               Adam Lambert           Allison Lambert - Samuel Iraheta  
                                                                                                                 ^  
_                                                                                                          _Rebecca Iraheta_  
"Rebecca.." Kris murmured, clicking on her name, a link that redirected him to a personal homepage.

  
  


Five minutes later he was dialing a number into his cellphone, and, after a few rings, an older woman's voice answered. "Hello?"

  
  


"Rebecca Lambert? Hi, I'm Kris Allen. I bought the house your parents used to live in...and I found something you might want to see."

  
  


~

Adam came through Kris' bedroom door that night in his dream, eyes wide and wet, and Kris  saw that Adam knew exactly what he had done, and what it might mean for him.

"Kris, darling, oh my lord," Adam said, rushing to him, and Kris pulled him down by his jacket collar into a slow, sensual kiss.

"Rebecca...she agreed to come over tomorrow," Kris mumbled after a minute, nuzzling at Adam's jaw as his fingers played with the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

"I know, Kris, thank you baby, thank you so much," Adam breathed, wrapping him tightly into his embrace as lips and tongues mingled.

"...I want you so bad," Kris mumbled a long minute later, tangling his fingers into Adam's dark locks, and Adam's only reply was a whimper, fingers digging into his hips as he kissed him like he simply wanted to absorb him into his   
body.

Time blurred and meshed for Kris, then, melting into hot, hungry kisses and glowing bare skin-- hands rubbing along aching, needy flesh, the delicious spread of Adam's thighs around him as tender,   
passionate words were panted against lips.

Kris lost himself in the soft give of heated skin under callused fingertips, Adam mouthing wet along his shoulder, stroking back and thigh and cheek as flesh yielded to flesh-- wrecked, ecstasy-laced moans reverberating throughout the room as hips pulled and snapped, the thin pink stretch of grasping skin around aching length.

After what seemed to be, simultaneously, both a millisecond and a lifetime later, Kris curled into Adam's body on the bed, burying his face into the other man's shoulder and panting hotly against him. Adam   
nosed at his cheek, tilting his face to rub his mouth against Kris' in a sweet, not-quite kiss.

"...This might finally.. be it," Adam breathed after a short minute, thumb rubbing across Kris' swollen bottom lip as he looked down at him with hope in his eyes. "Allison's daughter...reading my words...might   
be enough."

"I hope it is," Kris sighed-- even though he knew what it would mean if it was. Adam would finally move on... no longer there to love him, even in sleep.

Adam seemed to catch the drift of his thoughts, and he pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips.

"I love you, you know," was murmured into his ear, as the world around Kris faded away, and he just had time to return the sentiment before his eyes fluttered open to look upon his dark, quiet bedroom.

But he was not alone-- he felt a squeeze of arms around his waist, an imprint of lips against his neck, and then all was still.

~

The doorbell rang at noon the next morning, and Kris rushed to the door, coffee mug in hand, and pulled it open to reveal an older woman standing on the front porch, grey hair pulled up into a tight bun.

"Mrs. Iraheta," Kris greeted, welcoming her in.

"Just Rebecca, dear," the woman thinly smiled, taking a seat in the armchair Kris motioned her to.

"Coffee?" Kris offered as he set his mug on the coffee table, fingers drumming nervously against his thigh. He could feel Adam's presence in the room, watching tensely.

"No, thank you," she declined, crossing her legs and looking over at him. "So, Kris. What do you have to show me? A letter, you said?"

"Yes, ma'am," Kris replied with a nod. "...But first, I think you should hear..."

With that Kris respun the tale Adam had told him, telling it from a less personal stand-point-- he couldn't really explain that he had heard the intimate details from the man himself.

By the time he finished, Rebecca's eyes were slightly wide, and very sad.

"...Of course, I'd heard a bit from my mother... but... I never knew..." she quietly said a long few seconds later, seeming at at a loss for words.

Kris reached down to grab the yellowed envelope off the coffee table a moment later, silently offering it to her.

She took it, eyes crinkling at the corners as she read the name written across the front. She slowly, carefully opened the envelope, dipping her fingers in and emerging with an old, folded, time-stained   
piece of paper.

She unfolded it and slipped the reading glasses perched on her head over her eyes, beginning to read.

By the time she looked up again, large tears were gathering in the corner of her eyes, and Kris' breath stuck in his chest as he waited for her to speak.

"My uncle..." she mumbled, tracing her fingers over the paper before looking up at Kris. "...My mother, she... she left here out of grief. She was pained, but... she, she never blamed her brother. She was devastated when she learned of his death. These words... hold so much desperation for forgiveness. But she, Allison... she never held a grudge against him. She never blamed him, and... and she _always_  
loved him."

Kris' eyes widened as a ecstatic smile split his face. _Yes, thank you, lord.  
_  
Suddenly, he was acutely aware of Adam in the room-- and he turned in his seat to see him hovering by the stairway, form defined but hazy, blurring around the edges.

His beautiful blue eyes were fixed on Rebecca, wide, disbelieving-- and then, a breathless second later, like the sun breaking over the horizon, his full bow lips parted into a joyous smile.

His gaze moved to Kris for a moment, then-- and his eyes gentled, softened, love glowing out from him as fingers touched his lips in an obvious "Thank you."

Then his eyes raised, his face aglow with joy as his shimmering form seemed to disintegrate into the sun-beam streaked air.

Kris' eyes filled with tears, chest bursting with elation as something changed, irrevocably. And then the house was just a house, board and brick and mortar-- and the tense, saddened atmosphere that the place had held from the very beginning softened to a simple sense of peace.

"He... was just able to leave here, wasn't he?" Rebecca asked from behind him, sounding awed, and Kris wiped his eyes and nodded, a smile on his face. There was no room for sadness in his heart.

His beautiful boy was finally freed.

~

Seventy years later, Kris lay upon his deathbed in the very same house, breaths harsh and shallow-- the cancer breaking his lungs down finally triumphed after a long two year battle.

Through slitted eyes, he saw his family gathered about him, his brother and nieces and nephews, cousins and friends. Eyes were wet with sorrow,  sniffing sobs, Daniels wrinkled hand clasping his own beside him on the bed.

He managed a smile for them-- one filled with the happiness of a long life, a loving family... and those few nights of breathtaking love that had stayed with him all those years, sustained him.

He sighed softly, letting his eyes slide shut for the last time as he gave himself over to the glowing whiteness hovering at the edge of his vision.

Adam was waiting.


End file.
